


Everything I Need (Almost)

by Riachinko



Category: The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Dry Humping, Dubious Consent, Kissing, M/M, Porn With Plot, Sexual Confusion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-11 01:46:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12924699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riachinko/pseuds/Riachinko
Summary: It's the formative days of the Book of Arnold and Arnold has some liberating changes planned for their religion. Kevin finds himself dealing with the repercussions of these changes and his own feelings towards his best friend.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Saucy Pricingham porn is end game for me here. Tags added as I go, might end up Explicit (¬‿¬)◞

Two weeks into the catastrophe with the mission President and Arnold has the Ugandan villagers gathered in an empty village square, enthralled in his latest stories and laughing happily along with him despite the occasional stumble over words and concepts. They seem most interested in stories that can be acted out and told easily to their children, and Arnold is pleased to comply, making things up as he goes.

This comes naturally to him; this is fun.

They’re forming their own religion - a Bible Part Four, of sorts - a modern take on what Arnold has supposed to have been taught all his life, molded into something respectable and relatable with the help from Elders McKinley, Church, Michaels, Thomas, Neeley, Davis and Price.

Today’s lesson’s been vaguely about fidelity and things one shouldn't covet and Ming the Merciless showering Earth with the evils of space babe pornography from the planet Mongo. As a novice teacher, Arnold relies mainly on fielding questions from his audience rather than a structured curriculum, and so he ends the day with a simple, “Any questions?” and sighs with relief when nobody speaks out right away.

But then Nabulungi raising her hand high above the heads of her peers, her dainty wrist and long fingers catching Arnold's undivided attention in an instant.

“I have a question.”

“Yes--!” Arnold's stomach drops slightly, suddenly a bundle of nerves. “Nalabunny?”

“...Nabulungi,” she corrects, never letting the smile fade from her lips. “I am wondering about what God thinks about romance.”

The villagers in their circle groan at this; some of the women cackle and cluck their tongues, rolling their eyes because Nabulungi wears rose-tinted glasses to look at life - even Arnold can see she has a pure naivete to her. That's why he likes her so much - she's a little bit childish and so is he - Arnold can appreciate her girlish innocence in the same way he appreciates his best friend Kevin's unique blend of egotistical maturity.

Nabulungi stands, stepping toward Arnold briefly, then pausing in place to let him come closer to her through the crowd. She continues quietly, “When I was in school, in our old village, I was kissed--”

Mufala gasps audibly, stirring in his seat in an effort not to leap to his feet.

“--by a girl.”

“What!?” Mufala shouts. Arnold echoes the sentiment in a softer mumble, looking on at her with surprise and a burgeoning blush on his cheeks as she turns to her father, smile unfading.

“It's okay Baba! I am sure that God loves all of us and would never judge us based on who we want to kiss. Isn't that right, Elder Cunningham?”

Arnold replies on a missed beat, heavy-lidded and distracted from picturing such a thing. “Ohh yeahh. Er, I mean, of course God loves everyone. A-as long as you’re puuu _uuure_ ,” he drawls.

An entire village of women with children out of wedlock and men who... _might_ have been intimate with babies...maybe don’t want to hear about sexual purity. He's never read the entirety of the Book of Mormon - let alone gotten far enough to understand the intricacies of the laws of marriage - but he knows that being gay is “bad.”

Given the flutter of his heart at the thought of girls kissing other girls, Arnold determines that this is to be another one of those instances where the Book of Arnold updates things.

“As long as you’re pure of _heart_ and promise to be loyal to each other, it doesn’t matter who you are. God just wants us to be happy, after all!”

Amongst the silence of the Ugandans, he can hear the quiet mumblings of Elders McKinley and Thomas, and he can't stop himself from babbling to cover up the sound.

“It’s like, when I was in fourth grade, we used to play tag at recess, right? And I used to get in trouble _all the time_ for tagging the boys with kisses instead of a tap on the shoulder. I mean, I did that with girls too, but it was the guys that I fit in trouble for…Oh! And in sixth grade one of the boys actually asked me out, and we were holding hands in class and we got…sent home…” Arnold is suddenly all too aware of his rambling exposé, looking around at the eyes - American and African alike - watching him questioningly. “W-what I mean to say is that…there's nothing wrong with wanting to kiss guys-- or girls-- we've all thought about it, right?”

As a chorus of unsure chatter echoes around him, Arnold concludes with, “You’re just...maaaybe supposed to be married before you do anything more than kiss.”

“So you’re saying we’re all damned, just because some of us are not married?” asks one woman.

“Welllll, n-noooo,” Arnold sputters, “it doesn’t matter now that you’re baptized. Your sins have been forgiven!”

“If we give into sexual temptations and violate the law of chastity, we can repent, be forgiven, and participate in full fellowship in the Church,” adds Elder Thomas from the sidelines.

“Right! Well, I think that’s good for today,” Arnold says hastily with a clap.

He’s still getting used to the delicate balance between what he’s been taught back in Salt Lake City and what the Ugandan people will tolerate. Everything's topsy-turvy - different enough from America to be stressful, but new enough to be exciting. He just wants to help.

The villagers filter quickly out of the square to resume their daily lives, and for a moment it looks as though Nabulungi will be staying behind, but she’s pulled away by her protective father just as Elder McKinley raises to his feet to round up Elders Thomas and Church, smiling and nodding at Arnold as they make their way past him.

“‘For God so loved the world that he gave his only Child, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but have eternal life.’,” Elder McKinley recites jovially. “See you at the mission house, Elder Cunningham.”

Arnold doesn’t know what he means, but his mouth twitches into a half-smile anyway.  
  
  
  
  


Connor McKinley is already sitting on the two-seater in the common area when Arnold walks into the mission house at 8:52pm. He brushes his fiery ochre hair out of his face; rises to his feet as Arnold flashes a wide grin and waves at him before heading towards the farthest door on the left - the room he shares with Elder Price. 

The mission house is quiet. They have one old stand-up fan in the corner of the room, rotating from one side to the other at a snail’s pace, but it doesn’t matter anyway since the air it’s pushing is warm and stale and only reaches a few feet.

“E-Elder Cunningham!” McKinley sputters, and Arnold turns on his heel at the call of his name, “Your sermon today, it was…very enlightening. Thought-provoking,” he says, nudging Arnold with his elbow. He wears his usual wide grin but his eyes are less enthusiastic than normal; he looks as though he's trying to hide an air of worry. “I never realized you were so open to sensitive matters like that.”

“Like…” 

Arnold barely remembers what all he'd talked about today. Normally, Kevin would take notes so that they could write parables together based on Arnold’s babbling, but Kevin had been out getting placements with a new recruit today and all Arnold remembers is Naba talking about kissing another girl; flashbacks to his secret Black Emanuelle tape collection. 

“Like girls kissing?”

“Yes!” McKinley takes a step forward and cheerily grabs Arnold by the shoulders. “I had no idea you liked the company of men,” he taps Arnold on the shoulder and adds coyly, “you hide it so well.”

Arnold suddenly feels a rush of heat inside him, bursting at the surface of his cheeks, making him sweat even more, when the Ugandan summer’s heat had already been doing such a good job.

“Well,” McKinley teeters on his heel, “I don't know why I should be surprised that our new prophet is so tolerant and kind. I find myself thinking about the subject a lot lately, and…I think you're right. Why would God be worried about a silly little thing like me kissing a man?”

“You're gay!?” Arnold shouts, and McKinley pales, looking dumbstruck as Connor presses a finger to his lips to hush his prophet. 

“Shh-- We may be on the edge of acceptance, but I  _ should _ note that Elder Thomas and Elder Church are in their room preparing for lights out.”

McKinley’s finger brushes across Arnold's lips playfully and he smiles when Arnold curls his lips inwards. They make contact - much too much eye contact - that has Arnold's heart vibrating its way into his stomach. 

He's about to burst into anxious laughter when the district leader continues, “And you don't need to flatter me, I don’t hide my preferences nearly as well as you. I thought I was alone here, but-- I think we’re the only two people in this village who... _ like guys _ ,” he nearly whispers - on reflex, Arnold supposes. “The only Americans, anyway.”

It’s a strange conversation; Arnold feels  _ way _ more awkward than normal - he’s in  _ way _ over his head - and he knows he should be calm and composed in a situation like this, but finally he can't stifle his laughter. It’s a nervous trill, and he twirls a finger through the curls of his hair as Elder McKinley advances on him excitedly. 

“Would it be too bold of me to ask if maybe - since we’re here in Uganda for two years and all - if perhaps we might...experience it together?” McKinley says softly, grabbing again at Arnold’s shoulders. “Do you feel the same? It’s almost as though this is a sign from Heavenly Father.”

“...A sign?”

“Like it’s meant to be!”

“Uhhh,” Arnold utters, slack-jawed and unsure.

“If nothing else, don’t you think it would help to practice before we meet the person we’re meant to be with?”

“Well, I, uhhh…”

And then Arnold’s backing up, with McKinley edging closer to him, until the back of Arnold’s knees hit the soft, worn armrest of the couch and he falls back over it onto the cushions. It’s a perfect set up, just like something from a romantic comedy.  

“You do like men, don’t you?” McKinley asks, leaning down overtop the couch, keeping a comfortable distance from Arnold but looking on with awe and a dreamy grin.

“A-and girls,” Arnold sputters. “Girls, mostly.” 

“Aw heck, I just can’t believe this! A real live bisexual!” Elder McKinley whistles, breath hot and sweet against Arnold’s pinkened cheeks as he leans in ever-so-much closer. Arnold finds himself scooching back on the cushions to make room for McKinley as he practically oozes over the back of the chair so that they’re side by side. 

Arnold likes Connor alright, but he’s so...straight-laced and proper, and Arnold’s just...not. This isn’t the first time he’s felt admired, in a sense - Elder McKinley was very agreeable and encouraging when Arnold had first mentioned baptizing Nacholibre and finally being able to convert the Africans. This is, however, the first time he’s felt this particular closeness from anyone here  - a no holds barred attempt at a relationship more intimate than that of mission companions. 

“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” McKinley coos, placing a hand on Arnold’s knee, “and we’re already breaking rules.”

That’s true, isn’t it?

In the back of his mind Arnold feels guilty about leading his friends astray from the Book of Mormon; doubts himself and his worth. Then his district leader’s leaning into him, and Arnold doesn’t want to be rude, so he allows McKinley to tentatively press his lips to his - they’re soft. He watches Elder McKinley’s eyes slip closed - can see up close the slight flutter of his red eyelashes and the orange pop of freckles across his cheeks. He flounders for an excuse to push away from the contact but comes up short, and it’s then that the front door of the mission house creaks open, and he can hear the confident steps of Elder Price’s size 9s enter the room.

“Eld-- er-- Arnold?” he sputters.

Arnold can hear horns of disappointment ringing in his head as though he’s just lost on The Price is Right. His eyes dart towards the door, and he can very clearly see a stunned Kevin Price standing before him as Connor’s eyes fly open and he tears himself away, gracelessly backflipping over the arm of the chair.

“I-it’s curfew,” Kevin says flatly, eyes still wide with surprise, mouth drawn thin. “You might want to wrap that up.” 

Their fellow Elders begin spilling into the room from behind Kevin, laughing and chatting away oblivious to the scene before them. Elder Davis takes a seat beside Arnold while McKinley hastily retreats to his bedroom and Elders Michaels and Neeley to theirs. 

“Elder Price--”

Kevin locks the door behind the small crowd and removes his backpack, but doesn’t look at Arnold as he moves wordlessly past him to their shared bedroom, closing the door behind him with a resonating ‘click.’

Arnold starts to follow Kevin -  _ wants _ to follow Kevin - but takes a quick moment to stop and breathe and think about where his evening has unexpectedly headed; pauses to stare at the ceiling, to collect his thoughts. 

“What did I get myself into,” he sighs to himself, though Elder Davis replies with a distant “hm?” from the couch that Arnold doesn’t answer.


	2. Chapter 2

Arnold opens the bedroom door to reveal his best friend lying on his cot in his temple garments, hands behind his head on his lumpy mission-issued pillow. He'd almost say Kevin looked relaxed, if he couldn't see the tension sprawled over his face as he stares vacantly up at the ceiling. Kevin’s short temper has taken very little getting used to these past few weeks - the bright side of Arnold so often running people’s patience thin.

There’s been something else lately, though. With the acceptance of Arnold as his best friend, companion and prophet, Kevin has been acting unusual. Doting, yet uptight; they balance and complement each other. They’ve been described by their fellow Elders as magnets - opposites attracting.

It’s an attraction that neither of them really talk about.

“Okay, look,” Arnold starts, after the door clicks closed behind him, “I know what you’re thinking, alright?”

“I can’t say that I blame you, Elder,” Kevin says dryly, without looking at his friend. “The district leader and the prophet; I guess it’s a match made in Heaven.”

He’s snotty. By God, he’s actually scoffing as though he has a right to be irritated. Arnold has heard this tone of voice before - he recognizes it from back when Kevin was upset that Arnold had been the one to get the first baptism; that it was Nabulungi specifically and that Arnold had also gotten through to the people of Uganda. He recognizes the hint of jealousy in his tone of voice - that possessive arrogance.

Ridiculous!

“A-are you  _ jealous _ ?”

Kevin turns to face Arnold, then, his expression sour. “Of course not!”

He kicks his socked feet farther up onto his bed, and Arnold joins him, laying down on his own, loosening his tie a little as he sits.

“Look, you missed a whole Thing today. I really wish you’d been there, because I have a lot of ideas that we need to write down, I--” Arnold draws his lower lip between his teeth, tapping his thumbs against his legs. “Elder McKinley was a little bit...I guess he was happy about the changes I intend to make.”

“Changes?” Kevin shifts to sit up on his elbows, looking over with genuine intrigue. “What kinds of changes?”

“Just that, um,” Arnold hums, “having gay thoughts is okay. And so is...acting upon them.”

“Huh. So Connor..?”

“Elder McKinley doesn't  _ mean _ anything to me, okay? Well, I mean, he means  _ something _ in a comrade kind of brotherly kind of way…I guess.” It feels silly to have to explain himself, when he had never particularly wanted to kiss Connor in the first place, but he doesn’t want Kevin to think less of him for it. “ _ He _ kissed  _ me _ , okay?”

This has Kevin darting up in bed, hands balling into fists. 

“Oh, he  _ would _ !” he explodes. “He's been trying to put me in my place and take what I have since I got here.”

“Whoaaa, what is your  _ problem _ ? Elder McKinley is not out to get you, where’d you get a silly idea like that from!?” 

The words ‘ _ Take what I have’  _ drift in and out of his mind and Arnold finds himself surprised by his own exasperation. By now he knows all about Kevin's insecurities and is used to Kevin's foolish pride and stubbornness. He accepts Kevin’s faults - much like he likes to think that Kevin accepts his own - but Arnold can't exactly read this unfounded jealousy.

“ _ You're _ my best friend, Kev.”

Kevin visibly tenses and looks down at the fists at his crossed knees. “You too…”

He sits up on the bed, then, legs crossed and hunched over hopelessly. The rightmost cot squeaks as Arnold scoots closer, sitting on his heels and shuffling slightly closer still. His hands rest atop Kevin's, slowly and tenderly. They spend a brief moment just sitting there, Kevin's lithe fingers being stroked by Arnold's large, stubby ones. 

“Sorry,” says Kevin, his deep brown eyes flickering up shyly at Arnold's, and Arnold's down at his.

They're silent, holding their respective breaths. 

And then Arnold laughs. It's another one of those loud, nervous laughs that tears through the silence like a raging bull in a ring. He grabs Kevin in a hug, arms wrapped tightly at his neck with Kevin protesting as he loses his balance and they tumble down to the blankets. 

“Admit you were jeeaalous,” he taunts, holding Kevin tightly to him in an octopus grip. 

“That's-- that's enough,” Kevin chuckles under his friend's weight, “eno--hey--! Arnold!”

He's still laughing but his face is contorted into something strained and painful, bright red - much lovelier a shade than not so long ago, when he was coated in blood spray - and a drippy nose and hot tips of his ears. He pushes his palms into Arnold's chest, but the bear hug is too tight to pull away from, and Arnold's hips are now nearly straddling Kevin’s waist--

Arnold’s grip loosens when he feels it: All American Kevin Price, outrageously hard in his garments, trapped beneath Arnold, who doesn't dare move - just sits still and processes the situation. Kevin's erection probes at the front of Arnold's pants, and time slows as his eyes roll slowly down to his companion. Kevin looks downright ashamed of himself. 

He wants to crack a joke -  _ is that a something in your pocket or are you blah blah something something _ \- but he can't think of anything clever and Kevin would probably just get mad anyway.

So there they are, Kevin pushed down, back flat against the thin fleece blankets on his bed with his arms wildly up over his head from the struggle, and Arnold on top of him, Kevin's wrists in his hands.

Arnold takes in a deep breath; feels like he ought to say something, and then--

“Kiss me,” Kevin says dumbly, surprising them both, making Arnold's wide eyes snap down to Kevin's heavy-lidded ones. 

His grip tightens on Kevin's wrists. 

“What?”

He’s got a piercing glare fixed on Arnold for making him repeat himself. “It isn’t fair that Connor got to kiss you. Especially since I’m your mission companion and best friend,” he snorts. “So...kiss me, too.”

Arnold wants to. 

Now that Kevin's like this, underneath him and hot and jealous and asking for it, he  _ wants _ to kiss Kevin. But it's such a foreign concept to him. He doesn't know how to properly kiss like an adult should - the lame attempt with Elder McKinley doesn’t count - and he doesn't want to hurt Kevin's feelings if he chickens out halfway through. 

His heart is racing - he always thought, when he looked to the future, he’d be with a girl. But it feels almost...right with Kevin. So Arnold closes his eyes and swallows, leaning down, down, down until he can feel Kevin’s stale coffee breath against his lips, and he…kisses Kevin's forehead.

He sits back up, releases Kevin's wrists; stares at Kevin, and Kevin stares back, looking affronted. 

“Again, Arnold,” he says flatly. 

No matter how level he tries to keep his breath, he can't stop his face from burning, his heart from pounding in his chest. It flutters like it does with Nabulungi, but much more violently. It’s like a raw lust with Kevin - an attraction much darker than the one he shares with sweet, trusting, naive Naba. 

How did it go from zero gay Mormons to three within the hour? 

He wants to do it again, as Kevin’s asked. 

So again, Arnold leans down, propping himself up above his friend with a hand placed on the bed, on either side of Kevin's head. Again, he can feel hot breath against his nose, his lips. Kevin has his eyes closed already, trembling slightly as Arnold's lips ghost over his forehead. But with Kevin's hands no longer pinned, he takes the opportunity to grab Arnold's tie; to pull him close so that he can't fake him out and kiss anything other than Kevin's mouth, and as soon as their lips meet, the feeling is electric. 

It starts tenderly with Kevin taking control, soft lips lingering on Arnold’s with increasing intensity. Their noses touch as Kevin tips his head to the side, an accompanying rock of his hips making his friend fall haphazardly forward.

It comes naturally, even as a startled cry leaves Arnold's throat and spills into Kevin's mouth. It's not voracious or rough like in most of the movies Arnold’s seen, but it  _ is _ passionate, with their lips carelessly pressing - crashing - against each other’s over and over, tongues running against teeth and teeth clacking together ineptly. 

“Mmph,” Kevin grunts into Arnold's mouth. “Arnolph--”

It lasts maybe a minute and then they part lips; sit together for a moment -  Arnold straddling his best friend's gut rather than his hips to compensate for the height difference between them. Their mutually repressed hormones are akimbo - in the fray, Arnold is surprised to find that he's grown hard and needy and cherry lipped himself, but Kevin has it the worst: his breath is shallow and Arnold's weight on top of him isn’t helping any. 

He tries to thrust his erection up against Arnold’s backside - not even deliberately, just running on instinct - but he’s too effectively pinned. Regardless, the tightness of his cock pressing against his garment bottoms drives him wild; the sinful pressure of Arnold rolling his hips down into him pushes him towards insanity. 

Kevin’s pulled him down for another kiss and Arnold's spine tingles at the friction between them - however little it is. “Ah--  _ Hahh _ \--”

“What're we doing?” Kevin chortles in a dopey, dreamlike state. He stops the ravishing of Arnold's lips but his actions betray his words when he begins groping Arnold's stomach, rubbing circles into his sides and massaging up his chest over top of his dress shirt. 

“K-kevin,” Arnold mutters, swallowing harshly around the word; his throat is dry and it hurts him to speak - he rubs his tongue along the roof of his mouth, trying to produce any moisture he can; darts his tongue between his lips several times over. “Do whatever feels right.” 

“It's a-almost lights out - y-you should take off your clothes.”

Arnold nods silently and loosens his tie enough to slip over his head, mussing his hair in the process. His fingers tremble, too sweaty to pop the buttons on his shirt with any efficiency, and all the while, Kevin is watching him like a hawk - admiring every fumble and wanting so badly to kiss those chapped knuckles and chubby fingers. 

Arnold leaves his pants on - taking them off feels like a bit too much, and he wants to be comfortable enough to act smooth. He still feels too warm - Kevin feels too warm - they both feel way too warm in their temple garments, but neither of them dare to strip down any further. 

The thin mattress complains beneath them as Arnold folds himself down on top of his best friend again, so that his face is buried in the crook of Kevin's neck, suffocatingly hot. His mouth leaves soft, wet rings against Kevin's bare skin, and Kevin does the same, grabbing at his arms, clawing at the tight waffle cotton of Arnold's sleeves. They rock weakly together, breathing desperately and deeply through open mouths. 

Arnold risks grabbing at Kevin’s thigh, dragging his fingers up to his hip and just  _ grabbing _ at whatever he can--

“Arn--! Ah--!”

And then Kevin's sputtering, incoherent mumbles and gasps that make Arnold look up and over at him through glazed eyes. 

Kevin’s eyes twitch open and closed and he looks flat drunk; brow stressed and knitted. He's shaking, crying out silently whilst clawing Arnold's body to him; he kicks his heel into the small of Arnold’s back - making him hiss - and then Kevin's limp against the covers, face burning with embarrassment. 

He holds onto Arnold's shoulders - too tight - screwing his eyes shut. “I'm sorry.”

It takes a second to figure it out - that Kevin’s no longer humping up against him. When Arnold rolls his hips down one final time, Kevin gasps and flinches and everything falls into place.

“Did you--?” 

Kevin is so tightly coiled into himself that it’s difficult to notice him nod. 

“Okay.” Arnold sighs contentedly and flops onto his side, arms still looped around Kevin’s shoulders in a tight embrace. He waits for his breath to stabilise, the raucous pounding of his heartbeat to soften in his ears. “I’m glad you were able to loosen up a bit.”

Kevin’s thighs tremble as his muscles slack, not having to focus on supporting another body on top of him. But then his dreamy expression vanishes, and his eyes cast downwards, and away from Arnold’s. 

“You don’t hate me, do you?” Kevin slurs, voice meek.

“What?”

“I tempted you into this and I...finished before you could, too. Do you want me to..?”

Arnold looks stupefied, with wide eyes. “I’ve had boners before, they go away,” he laughs. “It’s fine - I could never hate you.”

There’s a thickness in the air that hangs over them - the feelings of burgeoning newness, anxious foreignness; the niggling thought that they’ve always been taught that everything they’ve just done is against God’s will. Their religion - Arnold’s Religion - is modern and so much better now, and yet--

Arnold pulls the chain cord of their small overhead lamp for lights out; places his lips to Kevin’s forehead for the final time this evening, whispering “Sleep tight, best friend,” before turning over on his bed and burying his head under the blankets to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW - It's a dream but it gets a little bit rapey.

Kevin can’t sleep. 

Kevin can’t think.

Kevin needs to strip out of his garment bottoms and wash them before they gets hard and stainy and even more shameful than they are right now. So much for being sacred. So much for packing multiples just to have them stolen from his suitcase on his first day here.

He doesn’t know if Arnold is actually asleep over there, under the thin fleece blanket (and using more than his fair share of it, to boot), but he doesn’t want to risk making a noise and drawing attention to himself. There’s an individual pack of Kleenexes on the floor by his head, so he fishes around to grab it, pulls down his bottoms and shoves a tissue down the front of him.

It’s cold and goopy - he can’t avoid getting ejaculate on his fingers as he dabs his fly front dry as best he can. When he’s got it all, it’s just a phantom coolness left that dances over his flaccid cock and abdomen. 

It’s difficult for Kevin to come to terms with what just happened. He fully admits - silently to himself, anyway - that he’d been jealous of Elder McKinley earlier, and that his jealousy had made him act out in a way that he'd always tried his best to suppress.

He likes Arnold.

But just how much?

The evidence was in the balled-up tissue now, wasn’t it? And Arnold had seemed more than accommodating. He’d been  _ into _ it. The thought of it leaves Kevin’s mouth dry.

It’s past curfew now - lights out - and before bed he hadn’t so much as talked with his companion as much as he had accused him and used him for sexual completion. There goes Rule 76. Kevin can’t imagine how many rules he’s broken since setting foot in Uganda. He’s a follower of the Book of Arnold now, maybe, sure - but that ingrained Latter-day Saint lifestyle doesn’t disappear as quickly as he’d like. How many rules can they change before they're just a cult of deviants?

So he lays in bed and stares at the ceiling to pass the time. If he just closes his eyes it’s only a matter of time before he falls asleep. Maybe Arnold won’t even mention this tomorrow and they can just pretend it didn’t happen...

He wishes he had a coffee. No, he doesn’t want a coffee, that wouldn’t help him sleep at all; wouldn’t keep him from breaking more rules. He wishes he could go out into the common area for a change of scenery, wishes he could walk around a bit outside without getting stung by scorpions or mauled by lions. 

He rolls onto his stomach; winces at the feeling at his crotch. The blanket slips off of his shoulders as he moves and he grumbles a bit because getting comfortable in a bed this small is so  _ gosh darn difficult _ . When he stays on his stomach for a good ten minutes without feeling tired at all, he rolls back over onto his side, facing Arnold’s back.

“Kevin, are you asleep?” Arnold whispers from beneath the blankets.

And at first, Kevin doesn’t answer, just holds his breath and waits.

He can hear Arnold breathing shallowly; his cot creaks softly as the cloaked figure shuffles around - and Kevin can only guess that Arnold is shifting onto his stomach. In the dark, he can barely see Arnold moving beneath the covers, the cot still subtly creaking with each movement.

“Arnold, what are you doing?”

It comes out accusatory, and Kevin immediately feels as though he’s made a mistake in speaking up.

“I can’t sleep,” Arnold says breathily. “Usually at night I have nothing on my mind, but now I have like twenty things.”

They turn face to face, straining in the dark to see hints of slate blue in each other's eyes. When Kevin decides he can’t see - but  _ wants _ to - he sighs and pulls the cord to turn on the light. He checks the bedside alarm clock for the time; closes his eyes and breathes deeply with disappointment.

“What time is it?”

“11:41,” Kevin whispers.

Arnold yawns and flops around on the bed.

“What kinds of things are on your mind?” Kevin asks. He's sure he knows the answer already - Arnold isn't that complex of a person, after all. He's thinking about what happened, probably hating himself for it - hating Kevin for betraying his trust like that. “I'm here for you if you want to talk.”

“Nahhh, it’s no big deal,” Arnold laughs softly, deflecting. Lying. “D’you just...wanna snuggle?”

“Oh...okay.”

Arnold sits up properly on the cot mattress and herds Kevin onto his stomach, perpendicular to him. Kevin frowns into the embrace, squirms around to get comfortable until he’s nuzzled in close, head on his friend’s chest. He sighs out through his nose.

“We should pray,” Kevin says softly. He passes his hands over his chest lazily; twiddles his index and middle fingers together, but never does make that final move to pray.

Arnold reaches up; gently brushes his left hand through Kevin’s soft dark hair. It feels cool and refreshing in contrast to their sweat-dewed skin. He repeats the soothing motion endlessly, as though Kevin were a cat, and it puts both of them at ease, lulls them into a relaxation just inches away from sleep.

“We probably shouldn’t do anything more than what we’ve already done tonight,” Kevin sighs, “Like, ever. A man ought to be married before doing...anything more than that…”

“I guess so,” Arnold yawns, looking up at the ceiling best he can but unable to see much without his glasses on. “D’you think Nalubungi would want to marry me someday?”

Kevin just grunts. “Maybe.”

“You know, other than the baptism, we’ve only really held hands - and I practically got to second base with  _ you _ !” Arnold giggles. “I can’t believe  _ two guys _ came onto me today. Why don’t girls ever do that?” He worries his lip in thought, “Is it me?”

“Keep it down before you wake everybody up,” Kevin snaps, “and I like  _ girls _ .” Arnold can feel him tense up - that defensive temper flaring, and Arnold just wants to kiss him to shut him up and calm him down. “But…” Kevin pauses to consider his words, “if I’m being honest...you  _ are _ the first person I’ve felt this way about.”

Arnold lights up - smiles wide and toothily. “Really?”

“But true as that may be, this has to end here. My parents can  _ not _ find out about this, and I’m sure you don’t want yours to find out either. We ought just...find ourselves a girl to marry. Save everyone the trouble. You have Nabulungi, and I’ll-- well, I’ll just have to wait until we’re back in America to find one.”

Arnold hums noncommittally, and Kevin finds himself slipping under, the silky touch of his friend’s fingers running through every strand of his hair. He can feel the weight shift beneath him as Arnold draws the cord for the overhead light, and as their bedroom darkens, so does Kevin’s vision as he falls asleep.

  
  
  
  


When Kevin arrives in Hell, he's greeted with the overwhelming scent of coffee waterfalls and glazed donut cobblestones, icing burning rotten in the surrounding pitted flames. He barely has time to collect himself before he’s pushed and prodded at by skeletal fingers and taunting demonic voices. 

“Go! Go!” 

He’s goaded into following a demon as large and as vaguely familiar as Elder née General Butt-Fucking Naked, through a giant silken curtain - blazing ruby red - and into a room full of men and women, scantily clad in leather straps and chaps and collars. Chief among them sits Arnold, naked on his knees before Lucifer himself - he knows it’s Arnold despite his inability to see his face, and then suddenly Kevin is stripped down to his temple garments and is much more aware of his audience.

There’s a gallery of Latter-day Saints behind Lucifer’s impressive throne of human bones - and not just those he’s met in Uganda. Elder Grant, Elder White, Elder Young...Everyone who’s ever known him and Arnold simultaneously, everyone who looked up to Kevin as a model of Mormon idealism back home.

They’re all watching him.

Elder McKinley drapes himself across the armrest of the Devil’s throne, strange and fey. His eyes lock onto Kevin’s as he’s forced to move closer and closer.

“It’s just a Hell Dream, it’s just a Hell Dream,” Kevin mutters under his breath, a mantra of lucidity. It makes the situation much more disturbing - knowing that it’s simply a dream but that he’s powerless to change anything about it.

Lucifer has Arnold held sharply by the back of his head, piercing black nails digging into frizzy dark curls. He can hear his friend’s whines of pain and protest, echoing through the room as their fellow Elders talk amongst themselves, whispering and giggling and gasping at Kevin’s reaction to it all.

“Like what you see, Elder Price?” McKinley coos, Cheshire Cat grin plastered across his freckled face. “You should try him.”

And then Arnold turns - finally - as much as he’s able under his captor’s grip. His cheeks are flushed and stained with tears; lips red and glossy to match. His eyes glisten and grow wider when he spots Kevin, but he doesn’t look as ashamed as Kevin would suppose he should. He looks...almost like he had when he was on top of Kevin, grinding down against him. Only with an intensity of times one thousand.

“Kevin?” He squeaks.

“Welcome back,” Satan laughs, a cartoonish, maniacal laugh. “You’ve been a naughty boy.”

Kevin finds himself teleported; behind Arnold in an instant and hardly able to stop himself from touching the soft, pink flesh in front of him. He tries not to stare at Arnold’s backside, so instead he looks into the piercing yellow eyes of the Devil, who sneers and mocks him.

“Go ahead and get what you want,  _ Elder Price _ , we all know what you did to end up here.”

“Kevin,” Arnold whines under the alto of the Devil’s voice, “Kevin please…”

“Go crazy,” Satan booms, “indulge your selfish side. We can’t be perfect all the time.”

“Do it!” The audience chants, “Do it!”

Kevin can’t think - he knows he’s dreaming and can’t help himself from moving, pulling himself out of his garment bottoms and stroking an erection he can't believe is his. The next thing he knows, time has flashed forward and he’s skipped the awkwardness - no conversation, no explicit consent in any way - he’s just nestled between Arnold’s legs from behind, thrusting in deep. A low moan tears from him as his eyes roll back in unison with the lull of his head - staring up at the Heavens if he could, but instead it’s just fire and brimstone. He wants to curse God’s name. It comes naturally and rests on the tip of his tongue.

Arnold mewls in pleasure and pushes back onto him, and Satan laughs and drools and drags Arnold’s head up to feed him his cock.

It fills his senses - as best as a dream can fill one’s dreaming senses - and Kevin’s sure he's going insane. He doesn’t want to wake up; each thrust is just pure, sinful bliss. The sights and sounds arousing him and inspiring him to rock his hips harder up against Arnold’s ass; pushing in deeper and leaving angry lines in his flesh as his fingers dig in and haul Arnold to him.

He wants to possess him.

To really make him scream.

“Kevbhin--!” 

It’s a strangled mumble, muffled from the sizeable red cock in Arnold’s mouth - a cock that’s jetting hot stripes across Arnold’s tongue and down his throat and across his lips when the volume is too much for Arnold’s mouth to accommodate. Through it all, Arnold is hard and yearning beneath him, untouched and needing release just as bad as Kevin is himself.

Every moan and whimper and cry is laced with painful desperation, and Kevin collects them and turns them over in his head until finally he’s thrusting raggedly and murmuring, “Arnold-- I’m gonna c-cuh--!” and he’s filling Arnold with sticky white come; pumping slowly into his friend until the sensation is too much for him to bear.

He drags a thread of ejaculate with him when he pulls out, admires it, and then Kevin’s falling to his knees, exhausted and fully spent with Arnold collapsed in front of him.

“You’ve left your best friend high and dry twice, Elder Price,” the Devil cries out in raucous laughter, “you really are a dick!”


	4. Chapter 4

The alarm on the side table begins chirping at 6:30am and wakes Kevin from his Hell Dream. He groans into the blankets, neck stiff like it’s been twisted halfway around and a muscle he didn't know he had on the right side of it is throbbing.

His shoulders are aching horribly - he’s sprawled across both his cot and Arnold’s (and as usual, Arnold has all the blankets). What’s worse, he finds, is that not only is he throbbing in his garment bottoms, fully erect, but it seems as though he’d gotten off already during the night, with another cold, vaguely damp-but-drying spot at the front of his bottoms.

He feels miserable.

Arnold’s sleeping like a baby, on his stomach under the blankets, drooling onto the pillow that he's clutching to him like a child.

Kevin tries to clean himself off as best he can, with spit and Kleenexes, and mercifully his erection seems to be deflating as the stress of his situation hits him. He shoves a new tissue down the front of him as a barrier and hops into his pants, and he supposes that's good enough for now.

“Wake up,” Kevin spits, shaking Arnold's shoulders to stir him - in no mood to admire his friend's cherubic sleeping face or to dote and in any way allow him extra sleep - and Arnold moans and rolls over.

“Morning,” he rasps.

“Get dressed,” Kevin says, and the annoyance in his voice is almost tangible. “It's just past 6:30.”

“I'm still tired,” he grumbles, mouth sticky and dry.

Kevin is practically dressed - collar popped, just throwing his tie on over his neck as Arnold starts to groan and crack his back, sitting up in bed to stretch out his arms; he sits once more to tighten his tie and slick his hair back with one hand.  

“Heavenly Father,” Kevin clasps his hands together, and Arnold wearily does the same on his side of the bed. “We thank you for this day and we ask for your guidance and watchful eye as we prepare today's mission. And bless those whom we cannot reach today. And bless that we may travel home in safety. Amen.”

“Amen.”

Arnold flops back against the blankets once the prayer is complete, but Kevin immediately leaps to his feet, starting a haphazard set of jumping jacks. The hair he’d slicked back is already falling over his forehead and his tie is flapping about with every jump. It’s charming to watch - and Arnold has keenly, since they arrived in Uganda - but today’s routine is markedly different: rushed.

“Whoa, buddy! You’re packing an hour’s worth of morning prep into ten minutes here,” Arnold yawns. “What’s up?”

“Nothing’s ‘ _up_ ,’” Kevin grimaces. He drops to the floor to begin a frantic set of sit-ups. “Except you _should_ be. A-and you should be exercising too. Your body’s a _temple_ , Arnold. It says in…” - deep breath - “Corinthians: Your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit within you, whom you have from _God_.” - And breathe - “You are not your own, for you have been purchased at a price.”

“Uh-huh,” Arnold mumbles. “Yeah...Well, breakfast is in like forty minutes. So what’s the point if I'm just going to eat those calories back?”

Kevin huffs through his nose and doesn’t reply, though he does get up from the floor, dusting himself off before he grabs for his backpack. In a split second he has it hoisted up over one shoulder, and then Kevin is halfway out the door, determined to get a coffee in before breakfast and a long day of canvassing.

“Aren't you gonna wait for me?” Arnold sits up on his knees.

Kevin is embarrassed to admit that his eyes drop down to his friend's crotch before fluttering back up to Arnold’s face as he puts on his glasses - dammit, he's adorable. It just makes him all the more frustrated and eager to get out of their shared room and out into the open as fast as possible; where won’t let his mind wander inappropriately.

 _“Someone_ has to set the table - you know where to find me, pal!”

Kevin smiles wide and leaves Arnold with his feet twisted in the blankets falling after him.

  
  
  


Their day unfolds smoothly enough.

Kevin is shocked to find that Arnold is a model companion - well, maybe not  _ model _ , but well-behaved and less touchy-feely than Kevin would have imagined after what had transpired between them. For the duration of their morning, it’s classic Elder Price and Cunningham, going door-to-door, serving the people of Uganda. Arnold still feels anxious that the people’s homes don’t have doorbells, so Kevin knocks and hypes the Prophet Cunningham to whomever answers.

“Our church is growing strong!” he says with pride. “We’d love to tell you about how you can belong.”

People are impressed - albeit often skeptical - that the Prophet is standing right there at their door, but Arnold has a dopey, endearing charm about him, and Kevin has the silver tongue to embellish Arnold's untruths. 

Come lunchtime, however, Kevin finds himself falling into that dopey charming trap. A couple of days ago, Kevin would have thought nothing of their proximity as they sit on a bench eating peanut butter sandwiches - a coffee in Kevin’s hand and a juice box in Arnold’s. It had been completely normal for them, Arnold had been in Kevin’s face since Day One. There hadn’t been anything remotely sexual about it at all.

So what had changed?

Now Kevin notices all the little things: Arnold’s thighs brushing against his as they sit, even though there’s plenty of room on the bench; Arnold's hands constantly poking and touching at his shoulders and arms and cheeks; the way Arnold keeps looking at him, almost shyly as he eats. 

And then Arnold says, “You’re being weird, Kev.”

“I am not being weird.”

Arnold just scoffs, little sandwich chunks flying through the air when he does. “Then why do you keep looking at me?” He mumbles around his food, “I’m just eating a sandwich!”

“ _ You _ keep looking at  _ me _ !” Kevin bristles, taking an overly big bite and regretting it immediately as he nearly chokes on the sticky peanutty spread. Arnold slaps his back as he coughs loudly at the ground, but he shakes free of his touch once he realizes what’s happening. 

Too much touching--

“I’m just going to stand,” Kevin says stubbornly, “and you don't have to watch me.” 

“Suit yourself, nothing weird about that.”

Arnold rolls his eyes, and Kevin finishes his meal on his feet to spite him; pacing while downing his dark roast so fast that it nearly burns.

“Right.”

But while lunch is finished in relative silence, it isn’t wholly unpleasant. Arnold is passive and chipper and keeps talking even when Kevin doesn’t have it in him to answer. Although Kevin’s mood has plummeted slightly, he refuses to provoke a fight. He just wants to pretend that things are the same as always - doesn't have to pretend at all, really. He's truly surprised by just how Same As Always things are going today. 

_ Hello! Ding dong!  _

Gradually as the day wears on and his caffeine high wears off, Kevin finds himself letting Arnold adlib at people's doors and God-fearing passages about eternal life warp into tales of Boba Fett and the medicinal benefits of amphibians. Introductions of “Our modern prophet Elder Cunningham” turn into “Here’s Super Mormon.”

It seems, too, that as the day drags on, the people of Uganda are less and less receptive to their tales.

“And what about the famine? Your God hasn’t done anything to help us.”

“Yeah, uhh,” Arnold stumbles, “The thing is, you need to believe, and pray, and then Heavenly Father will surely...hear you...and grant your wishes. And it would help if it’d rain every once in awhile, am I right?” he snides.

A hut door slams in their faces; it’s nearing eight o’clock at night and Kevin has finally had enough. “You can’t please everyone, huh?” he says, clapping a hand on Arnold’s shoulder. “We oughta be heading back if we don’t want to end up a bedtime snack for a lion.”

“Tomorrow is a latter day,” Arnold sighs. “Hopefully it doesn’t seem as long as today did, huh?”

They’re too far out to catch (what passes as) a bus back to the mission house, at least all the way - only maybe a twenty-two minute walk back to the nearest stop. There’s enough daylight left to recognize where they are and where they need to be, with the sky glowing a brilliant pallet of orangey-reds and the dirt roads bathed auburn. Even the dust kicked up beneath their shoes as they walk seems colourful. 

It complements the dry, suffocating heat nicely. Kevin wipes the sweat from his brow and Arnold pulls a handkerchief from his back pocket to ruffle the sweat out of his head of curls.

“Speaking of famine, I’m fam _ ished _ ,” Arnold chuckles. He swings his backpack off of his shoulders as the two walk together - Kevin grunts in acknowledgement; wills himself to ignore it when Arnold pulls a banana out of his bag’s front pouch.

“My feet are killing me,” Kevin mumbles softly once they’re halfway to where they need to be. 

“I can carry you if you want,” Arnold laughs. And to their mutual surprise, Kevin laughs too.

“Today was nice, Arnold,” he starts, a little bit timid. “Thanks for...you know, not making it weird.”

“Mm, you did that yourself.”

Kevin balks, “I was  _ not _ being weird. I dunno, I was just...I was expecting you to do something  _ Arnold-y _ . Like trying to hold my hand or kiss me or something.” Arnold’s silence brings a blush of shame to Kevin’s cheeks. “That’s pretty awful of me, isn’t it..?”

“That wouldn't exactly be very Mormon of us, would it, Elder Price?” His grin spreads until Arnold can see that Kevin isn't having it, so he bats Kevin's shoulder playfully. “There'll be time for that later. Cheer up!”

They arrive at the bus stop in time - but barely. They can see the beaten down Ford - coated in thick brown dust and mud, hood dented in - nearing the stop, but showing no signs of slowing down for it. Despite himself - not even thinking at all, really - Kevin ends up grabbing hold of Arnold’s hand to tug him along, picking up the pace into a light jog to catch up to the passenger wagon towed by the car.

They hop on while it's in motion, just like in the movies; the atmosphere feels unreal. 

Once he notices what he's doing, Kevin tells himself it's just a friendly gesture - to guide his wheezing, weary buddy over to a bench with enough space for them to both sit comfortably beside each other. Arnold must be aware enough to know, but he doesn't say anything about it for the rest of the trip back to the mission house. 

They're still holding hands, and neither lets go.

**Author's Note:**

> Please feel free to leave any comments here or message me @rudigerblues on Tumblr or @riachinko on Twitter!


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